If The Coffin Is Rocking Then Don't Come Knocking
by Rikku Uwabami
Summary: Thrown into a coffin that is already occupy against your will you have no choice but to wait for death but as time goes on you soon find out that your little companion isn't really dead..


No, no, please!" Your cries echo through the cavernous basement beneath ShinRa Manor located not far from Niebelheim. You struggle weakly against the hands holding your arms roughly, your eyes searching wildly around. "Please," you sob, your tears streaming down your abnormally pale face, "don't do this! Please! I beg of you, _please_, do not put me- NO!" You cry harder, your tears having no effect on those dragging you cruelly down through the underground caverns, their fingers biting into your tender flesh unkindly, leaving bruise over bruise marring your pale flesh. When you see where they're dragging you to, a certain room in the basement, your cries stop as go cold to the bone. "Not there," you mutter, your voice becoming a scream as they continue, dragging you now, onward to the room. "No! Please no! Not _there_!"  
"Shut up," a gruff voice snaps at you, and a hand reaches forward to unlock the door while the other hand gives your back a shove, sending you staggering into the room.  
There's a rough laugh, and a moment later, Professor Hojo stands in the doorway, his maniacle gaze locked with your frightened one. "You wanted to work in the morgue, you liked the morgue. Working with dead people was such fun for you. Lets see how you deal with _mostly_ dead people!" As he nods, the two men who'd drug you down there move past him, their hurting hands reaching for you, grabbing your arms again and dragging you back as you try to kick and fight. Hojo follows at a much slower pace, and when they pull you to your feet so you're standing in the back of the room, you realize, much to your horror, that you're surrounded by coffins!  
"Oh heavens..." you murmer, tears now silently tracking down your face. You have no hope of escape. Your body is riddled with pain, your legs barely able to hold you up due to the torturous experiments this mad doctor performed on you after discovering you pilfering his employers secrets.  
Hojo laughs as you gaze fearfully at one coffin in particular. "You know what's in there, don't you?"  
Yes, you do, in theory, and you don't want to know in reality. You bite your bottom lip, too afraid to even speak as Hojo laughs, kneeling haphazardly to unlock the casket. You feel dread encompase you, fill you, as he pushes back the heavy stone lid to reveal the corpse within, but instead of being decomposed and rotted, no more then a pile of tissue, cloth, and bones, you're shocked to see a man lying there, his face serene in what appears to be sleep, his hands resting at his sides, one encased in a golden gauntlet, the other, a black leather glove, much the same material as the rest of his wardrobe, save the red material beneath him which you guess is a cloak or a cape or something. He's handsome, more so than any man you've ever seen before, and his skin is a pale color, such a contrast to his long, ebony hair, the strands lying to frame his perfect face, making you itch to run your hands through what you _know_ to be silken heaven. There's a wrap of red fabric around his forehead, holding back his hair from his eyes. He looks to be carved from stone, his features are a work of art. You have to wonder, if man was made in God's image, whose image was this sinful creature made in, and if he isn't a devil, then maybe God must have a sense of humor, because this must have been his true image, because how else could something so divine exist? You're pulled from your fanciful, panic-induced, albeit hysterical, thoughts when Hojo starts tsking, moving around to stand at the head of the coffin. "You've fallen very silent, my dear. Do you envision your grave is before you?"  
Your eyes start to question him when you're shoved forward, your feet hitting the foot of the coffin and tripping you, sending you falling into your proverbial, if not literal, grave, your body being cushioned on the soft, _dead_, body inside. With a terrified cry, you reach up to stop the lid as they bring it over your head. You plead, beginning to cry again as you hear them lock the casket once more.  
You hear a knock on the lid, right over your head, and Hojo's muffled cackle just before he says, "I don't take kindly to espionage, my dear. You love dead things, well, you can _love_ this one forever! Enjoy your tomb, you little bitch!"  
Your palms are resting on his unbreathing chest, and as your fingers curl in the fabric of his cloak, you squeeze your eyes closed tightly against the darkness battling with your nerves, your ears listening as the footsteps recede from the room. You feel your despair building until you let out one last cry. "_No_!"  
Then the door slams, leaving you perfectly alone, locked in your own hell, your body feeling as if hot licks of fire are burning through your insides, scorching your blood stream like burning lava.  
You drop your cheek down and cry softly on the beautiful body's chest, your sobs soft and ripped from your very soul. You never wanted this, any of it, and it's all your fault. At least he doesn't smell terrible, and isn't all dusty and decomposed. You don't know what you would have done if he was. Probably nothing. You don't know what Hojo did to you in the months, probably years he held you captive in his lab, but your long awaited escape attempt, which didn't take you more then just outside of your tube enclosure that had been filled with some strange fluid, had been a failure, and winded you up down here, entombed with the most comfortable cadaver you've ever felt, not like you've lied on many cadavers. You had woken in containment in some circular tank just big enough for you, breathing in this luminous, pale green-colored, thick liquid, and when you had finally weakened the glass enough that it would break, you went spilling out across the floor in a wave of sharp pieces of glass and gooey stuff which you had to cough up out of your lungs before you could take your first hazardous breaths of air after ages in captivity. You don't know what he did to you, the horrors he must have put inside you, and you don't want to know. Confronting that would require more strength than you have in you. Your body is too beaten, too bruised, and too aching from your painful stay in his lab as one of his "special" experiments. You wish someone would come, someone who will let you out of here, and after a time shouting, you give up, your eyes closing tightly as tears built in them again.  
Pressing your face into this unknown mans chest, your tear-streaked face seeking comfort from his corpse, even though he wont give any, he can't, but just having someone share your torment is enough for you... even if he is already dead.  
_Please..._ you beg no one, your eyes closing tighter, your teeth biting your bottom lip hard. _Someone... anyone..._ "Save me!" You say the last words aloud, the unsteady whisper barely heard even by your enhanced ears.  
You don't hear anything, but suddenly, a leather clad hand rests over your fingers, pinning your palm down as you inhale sharply, lifing your head to slam it into the ceiling of the casket, then drop it back down onto his chest just as he takes a breath before asking in a deep, sultry voice that seeps into your mind and wreaks havoc on your senses, "Who are you and what are you doing atop me?"  
You sniffle, trying to calm yourself so you can respond, your soft sounds making the formerly dead guy aware of your distress. "Were you crying?"  
You wait a moment, weighting your options, then, figuring you're going to be "bunking" with him for _forever_, you decide to be hospitable, and say in an almost mew, "My name is Rois. I was left here... to die."  
You choke back another sob, unable to keep from burying your face against him as you hold back your tears. You can't roll off him, there's not enough room, maybe an inch between your back and the roof of the coffin. There's not even enough room around you for you to move to his side, so you're left lying on his chest, crying, your body pressed fully against his, your small stature making you fit snugly against him. Almost as if your body was made to curve against his, like a puzzle that has found that missing piece.

**Vincent Valentine's POV**

Soft curves, kneeding fingers, heartbreaking tears. Vincent can hardly believe it when he wakes. Something had reached into his deep slumber, into the inner depths of his soul, and brought him forth to waken with this quivering innocent atop his hard body, and now he knows it was this woman. It was her soft plea that had woken him. He'd heard it. This slight figure pressed fully against him had called to him, had begged with more than words, for his help, and he had heard, and something primitive inside of him had responded, rearing its head and forcing him up from the layers of sleep and to the surface where she lay in terror, her tears even now dampening his chest further, her soft sniffles and shakey sobs making him want to hold her more firmly against him, take away her tears and replace them with... what? A smile? He can't do that. He's a demon, a monster. He couldn't make a girl smile, especially one in such distress, no matter how much he may want to. Even now, as he holds her hand to his hard chest, he can feel the beast in him growling, snapping its teeth and waiting for the moment it can be free, but not to harm her. No, to harm those who caused her such sadness and dismay.  
For her, he would do anything.  
He longs to wrap his arms around her, hold her, comfort her, give her warmth when the cold seeps into her bones, but he hesitates. She couldn't possibly want his comfort, let alone his embrace. She is with him, her cheek softly resting over his heart, her fingers holding onto him so desperately, so scared, her lefts brushing against his, because she was put here, against her will. She was left here to die, as she herself admitted. But even if she might not like her circumstances, mayhap she will accept something on his part? Something that wont cause her fragile self to break.

**Your** POV

"You are so silent," you say, unaware that you're voice has lowered to a whisper.  
"Why were you left here to die?" is his soft spoken reply.  
You can feel each word he speaks vibrate through you, your ear resting on his chest as you listen to his slow, barely there heartbeat. You bite your lip again, forgetting for the moment that you're lying on him as you rub your cheek slowly against him before speaking. "I was a spy. I snuck into ShinRa with the intention of stealing their information, their secrets, and was left unnoticed for years until the right person stumbled across me at the wrong time." You tell him all about your capture at the hands of a SOLDIER 1st Class, your interrogation conducted by Heidegger, and your eventual incarceration at the hands of Hojo, where you were subjugated to his more fanatical experimentations, then told of your near escape, in which you failed. "My legs," you're telling him, "they just would not work. I was strong, my muscles felt powerful, but where the body was able, the mind was weak, and I could not get my body to do as I wanted, and failed." You sniffle lightly, your eyes closing even though you cannot see anything, not even a ray of light peeking through a hole or a crack. "I am so tired now..."  
His left arm, the one with the golden gauntlet, surprises you by wrapping around your waist, his arm brushing against the coffins lid as he languidly drapes his arm over you. "Sleep. It is all we can do." When he hears you sniffle and knows you're crying new tears, he asks, "Why are you crying now?"  
"I am going to die and leave you all alone again, aren't I?" you say between tears, your voice barely raising as you hiccup a sob. "You will be left with my dead body, but you will keep living on, wont you?"  
"Yes," he tells you solemly, his chest slowly rising as he sighs. "That is true. Although I find myself more cramped in my wooden confines, I welcome your presence, if only for the little while you are alive. If I could get you out, I would, but as you said, they locked the coffin, and I am unable to break this particular lock."  
"Is there a reason?" you asked quietly, your voice low as you slowly drift off to sleep.  
"Not that I am aware of," he replies, his long lashes lowering as he, too, readies to sleep. Unaware of his actions, his arm pulls you closer, making you feel oddly safe in the coffin that is, indeed, yours as much as it is his, if not more seeing as how you will actually be doing the dying.  
Just before sleep takes you, you incline your chin upwards, your eyes too tired to open as you say sleepily, "You never said your name."  
Silence reigns for a long moment, and just as you start to think he isn't going to respond, he says in a husky voice that makes you smile, "It's Vincent, Vincent Valentine." You waken from a long nap and lift your head, momentarily forgetting where you are, that is, until your head hits the top of the coffin, then you groan in pain and lower your head to rest back on Vincent's sternum. "Urgh," you grimace, reaching up to put a hand on the back of your head.  
"You hit the lid again?" Vincent asks softly, his dark velvet voice slipping through you as if you were a sieve, moving through every pore in your body to wrap around your heart.  
You nod, tears stinging your eyes. "What number is that now?" you ask tightly, your head really hurting.  
"23," he tells you with a sigh, his hand lifting to brush yours away so he could rest his palm over the sore spot. "Feel better"  
You nod, your ear resting just over his faint heartbeat. Your hands are resting on his biceps, your fingers occasionally feeling the muscles hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt. "Much, thank you."  
You have no concept of time in your wooden tomb which, for some reason, neither you nor Vincent have been able to break from, so you don't know how long you've been in confinement, sleeping, waking, sleeping, waking. You speak to Vincent often, especially when you wake from a nightmare to find his hand already stroking your hair, comforting you. For you and him being complete strangers until your conjoined incarceration, you have bonded well. Probably comes with the close confines you're forced to deal with. You can't even shift without either kneeing him somewhere, hurting yourself or him, or causing him some kind of... discomfort. You really try to keep from moving your lower hips, which rest right over a certain part of him which seems to react should you shift at all. You don't mind his arousal, you understand that he hasn't been out of this wooden prison for many years, probably hasn't been with a woman for many years before that, but since you saw him before being rudely introduced to him, you'd bet that he wasn't ignored by women, which, for some reason, makes you feel a pang of jealousy. You don't like the idea of other women clinging to him, fondling him, even touching him. You just don't. You're the one in here, your body pressed firmly against his, no way out, and you're starting to get used to this, and are actually liking it a little. It's not seriously uncomfortable as it had been those first few times you'd woken to speak with him, and you get the feeling that he has become comfortable with you, as well. He isn't tense anymore, like he had been upon waking to find you sprawled over him however long ago.  
"You have gone silent," Vincent comments, and you smile. Something you have discovered, and maybe he has, as well, is that neither of you like the silent moments while you both are awake. You've found yourself lying awake and just listening to him sleep, but when you know he is awake -you can tell by his breathing when he is- you like to hear him speaking, talking to you with that deep, sexy voice of his.  
"I was thinking," you tell him almost teasingly, shifting your arms carefully so you can rest them at his sides, beneath his. You supress a shiver, feeling the chilling cold more prominently tonight than at other times. You have guessed it's night only because it gets cold as night comes, so you have a slight sense of things, but not all nights are cold, so you miss days.  
"About what?" Vincent asks quietly, wrapping his arms around you, encircling you in warmth as you tuck your arms more around him, covering the bare flesh with his cloak.  
"About how comfortable we are together," you tell him honestly. What's the point in lying?  
"It's our forced confinement," he says gruffly. "I can say that, if not for these walls surrounding us, I would not dare hold a woman in my arms like this."  
"That's comforting," you chuckle, rubbing your cheek against his chest. "I do not think I would want to share this. I am not particular to being imprisoned, but seeing as how neither of us can do much about it, what is the point in dwelling on it? Having you as a roommate makes this bearable."  
You feel him nod slowly. "That is true," he says. "I must admit that I feel the same way. I slept soundly before, but now I can hold conversation, instead of just keeping myself company."  
"That is so," you agree, burrowing closer to him and his body heat as you drift off to sleep, your bare legs brushing against his leather encased ones. "Vincent?"  
"Hm?" He's drifting off, too.  
"Can you bring your cloak around me? I am cold."  
"Ok, Rois." Vincent unwraps his arms from you, his hands taking the corners of his cloak as it rests at his sides and beneath him, then wraps you and him up together just as you'd requested. "Better?"  
"Hn," you sigh softly, contently. "Much." You tip your chin up, your cheek brushing along not far from the cloaks buckles on his chest.  
"Sleep now, I will keep you warm."  
You feel yourself smile at the darkness. "Thank you, Vincent."  
"Of course, Rois." You lie awake atop Vincent for what seems forever, having woken to the fact that you have been in here for more than a couple weeks and yet you have not died. You should have suffocated a _long_ time ago. You barely feel hungry or thirsty, yet you still should have starved weeks ago. You're starting to think Hojo did more than you'd thought. Could- could he have turned you into something? Like a monster? You shudder at the possibilities.  
Vincent stirs, a slight movement giving his wakefullness away. "Are you cold?" He takes his cloak edges in hand and wraps his arms around you again, holding you as he has taken to doing each time you shiver.  
You shake your head, but don't ask him to let go. "I was thinking of something that- that really scared me." You explain your fears, about you being some kind of weird creature cooked up by the mad quack himself, and all the while Vincent remains silent. Once finished, you sigh, and ask, "Do you think he did something to me?"  
It seems forever before Vincent finally says seriously, "Yes."  
You feel tears burning behind your eyes, but know that you can't let them out. You fear you might already have ruined Vincent's shirt with your other tearful torrents. "What do you think he did to me?"  
"Probably close to what he did to me." The words are low, you wonder if you heard him at all, but you know what he said, and you look up at him.  
"Vincent..." You long to see his face, wishing you could read his expression and know what he's feeling. His words never betray his emotions, his voice rarely changing. "Were you scared?" you ask him softly, quietly, feeling like you already know the answer.  
"At first, when I was awake. That was not often."  
You reach up, your fingers feeling along his chest until you reach his neck, brush his hair, continuing upwards to his face. When he starts to question you, unsure of what you're doing, you say, "I want to see you, Vincent, and our hands are all we have for sight. I want to know what you are feeling, and to know that I need to see your face. Will you let me?" Your fingers still on his jaw, waiting his response.  
After a moment you feel him nod. "How could you know my feelings just by my face?"  
Your hands once more commence their excursion. "Expressions reveal more than you think about someone," you tell him simply, pausing when your fingertips graze his mouth. You wonder what he tastes like.  
Unable to really stop yourself, and not really wanting to, you inch your body slowly up his, feeling his sharp inhale as you brush against certain parts of him. Your breath lightly fans across his lips, your fingertips your only guide as you lower your mouth slowly over his. You feel him stiffen, almost pull away, but as your soft lips settle fully over his, he relaxes, and you feel him begin moving into the kiss, his lips following the slow pace yours has set. He tastes like musk, something spicy, and pure ecstacy. You feel something brush against your lips and gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue through, and you're shocked by the intensity such an innocent kiss has become. You love the taste of him, you're not sure you'll ever get enough of him. Vincent Valentine. He tastes like sin, something forbidden, and he feels like muscled perfection. Your fingers unbuckle his cloak, shoving it aside do you can get at his shirt. Soft fabric, double rowed buttons, and two belts around his waist.  
As you work on undressing him, wanting to feel the firm perfection of his chest, Vincent's hands slowly smooth down the soft skin of your arms, marveling at how something so small, so light, could feel so good, especially when pressed against his hard, aching body. Living with you over him, heaven so close, has been hell on him. But now that you've made the first move, now that you're hands are the ones urging him on, he wont feel guilty about doing just what he's wanted to do since waking to the innocent weight of you pressed so hotly against him.  
For the first time, Vincent realizes how little you've been wearing while atop his needing body. His hands smooth down your back, feeling your shirt end just above your small, tucked in waist. He almost groans against your soft, innocent lips. Why do you have to have such a perfect waist? He nearly loses his control when he feels your hands just about rip open his shirt so you can touch his hot flesh. Vincent keeps a tight hold on the beast within him, keeping it tightly leashed as his hands continue down to feel the waistband of your pants. A growl escapes him when his gauntlet cups your bottom, pulling you hard against him.  
A moan escapes you before you realize it, a hunger you've never known building within you. Your desire for him is insatiable, a burning need now growing to unstoppable proportions, and as his mouth seems to devour you, his hands are urging you closer, his gauntlets claw soon trailing up your thigh, the sharp tip cutting through your pant leg, and continuing upwards, through the waistband of your pants. A shiver runs through you at the gentle scrape of his sharp claws.  
"Vincent." His name comes out a breathless moan of need, the sound surprising to your ears. It doesn't sound like your voice, but that of some seductress, and there's an answering growl from deep within Vincent.  
His deep voice strained with need, his body tense as he restrains himself, Vincent breaks from heaven, turning his face from the kisses you're offering as he tries to get control over himself again. "I- I don't think I can stop, Rois. Not without help."  
You lightly kiss his neck, your body moving against his without real thought, just seeking some kind of relief, making him tighten up more, his hands moving to stop your hips but only making you grind down harder on him, drawing a deep, husky growl from his throat. "Why should we stop?" you ask softly, your hands moving to his resting on your hips. "Why can we not," you trail your hands up his arms and to his chest again, "go all the way? It is only us, we have nothing else to do, and there is no one here to say no."  
"I _should_ say no!"  
"Vincent," you whisper, shocked by your own wonton behavior. Your hands find his belts and begin removing them. Your lips move on his neck, your teeth lightly scraping over his pulse before your tongue slips out to take away the sting. "Why not just make the most of this?"  
"I would prefer being on top," he growls deep, the sound rumbling his chest, making you giggle as you kiss his collarbone.  
"Is that all?" You reach for the front of his pants, your slim fingers moving slowly as you undo the button and slide down the zipper.  
His claws suddenly tangle in your hair, pulling your teasing mouth back up to slam over his as an animalistic sound escapes him, making you even more hot for him. "Just remember," he growls against your lips, "I tried to stop."  
"Don't stop," you pant, moving against him as your hands explore his body. "Never stop." Your lips capture his, taking his husky growl into your mouth as your fingers trail down his hip, pushing his pants aside inch by slow inch.  
Breaking the kiss, Vincent tosses back his head with a groan as your fingers reach that part of him that's aching for release. "_This_," he bites out through gritted teeth, "is why I prefer being on top!"  
You only chuckle, loving this side of him. You've never been like this, a seductress with no inhibitions, his every reaction is what urging you on. You're surprised at yourself, surprised by the power you seem to weild over such a strong being like Vincent Valentine, and that power makes you more confident, giving you the courage to do all the things you want to, and there's not much Vincent can do to stop you, and you're not sure he wants to anymore.  
Vincent feels your fingers dancing over his throbbing member, and his teeth clench tightly as he holds in the desire he's feeling. It's like nothing he's ever felt before. He just wants it to go on and on, yet he also wants to bury himself deep within you and find the relief his body is so heavily aching for. It's only when he feels himself close to the edge, about to lose all control, that he takes your hand from him, his breath coming in quick as he literally tears the remains of your pants aside so he can feel your body pressing down on him. He wants to touch you, taste you, drive you as wild as you were driving him, worship your body with more than just his hands, but finds it impossible within the confines of the casket, so he settles with taking your hands and holding them over his head, your elbows resting on either side of his neck as his lips capture yours in a fierce and fiery kiss while his leather-gloved fingers smooth slowly down your hip, pulling you against him for a moment before easing you away. You give a gentle whimper, your body aching for his to fill you, but he's isn't about to make this quick. He wants to drag this moment out for an eternity before bringing you the release you and him both desire.  
"I want you ready for me, for all of me." Vincent says in a husky voice that just drives you even more wild.  
You strain your wrists, wanting to be free to touch him again, but he keeps a stubborn hold on them, his gauntlet mercilessly holding your hands captive, and your body prisoner to his touch. Vincent trails a kiss to your neck, his burning lips sending shivers down your spine as they trail hot kisses over your collarbone, his teeth gently nipping places, making you squirm against him, but his hand on your hip holds you from impaling yourself on his hard body. He smirks against your soft skin when he hears you give a frustrated growl. As an answer to your demands, Vincent slips his hand between your body and his, the soft leather of his glove making your already sensitive skin prickle with excitement, and when he slides his hand down over your moist center, you gasp, your body arching against his, your hips pressing yourself into his palm as his skilled finger lightly massages your core. You bite your lip against the sensations, not wanting to give in to the pleasure his leathery touch is bringing you, but when he inserts his finger ever so slowly, you can't help the moan that escapes you. The sensations his touch is bringing you are increadible. You've never felt anything like this.  
You say his name as a gasp as he slowly withdraws his finger, then stabs it deep again, bringing you to a whole new level of pleasure as the friction of his glove against your aching womanhood nearly sends you soaring. You know you wont be able to hold on much longer, not with his burning kisses on your neck, and certainly not with his tantalizing leather touch inside you.  
"Vincent," you moan, breathless. "_Please_!"  
Hearing the stark need in your voice, feeling the way your body seems to cling to his hand, not wanting to give up his touch, Vincent knows you're close to your release, and so is he. He's as hard as a statue, but he's not going to give in until he's sure you're ready for the length of him. He doesn't want to hurt you, just pleasure you, build your passion to whole new peeks, bring you up to the heavens, then hold you as you come back down with him and only him. He's not sure that, once he's inside you, he'll ever be able to give you up. He's certainly never going to let any other man touch you like he is. He never wants you to say anyone elses name like you're saying his, so breathless and pleading, so filled with desire and the passion only he can bring you, and only he can. He'll make sure of that. He'll make you want no other _but_ him.  
Vincent slowly removes his finger from your body, but before you can voice a complaint, his body gently probes yours, making you inhale sharply. Your body quivers with desire as he slowly fills you, his size stretching you pleasurably as he sinks himself deeper, but he stops when he comes to the evidence of your innocence. This shocks him, making Vincent pull back in an attempt to see you through the darkness. "You've never been with anyone before!" He makes it a statement because he's already pressing against the truth of your virginity.  
You feel yourself blush, and for once are thankful for the darkness that surrounds you and him, thankful that he can't see the look on your face, or the tears almost shimmering in your eyes. You don't trust your voice, so you instead rest your forehead on his shoulder and nod, letting him feel your answer instead of hear it.  
For a moment Vincent questions what he's supposed to do. Should he stop this now, even with your body built to a burning pitch and his already so close to shattering, or should he continue and be damned with any consequences? He doesn't want to take advantage of you, but you were the one to start this. He had tried to stop, so maybe continuing wouldn't be so bad, but still...  
"If we finish this," Vincent says softly, his voice comforting you as his hand slowly releases your wrists, "will you be able to live with it? Or will you regret giving yourself to me in this way, unmarried, in such a situation as this? Will you be able to live with the repercussions?"  
You take a slow, shakey breath, and nod your head, your teeth nervously biting your bottom lip. "I want this, Vincent. I want _you_. Whatever happens afterwards," you place a tender kiss to his shoulder, "is nothing I would not take in stride. I appreciate your concern, and I am so happy to just be here with you, Vincent. The things you have done, the way you have touched me, kissed me. You have made me feel so much more than I have ever felt before. I feel so alive right now, here with you, and I want to feel more with you. Even though we are trapped in this confinement at the moment, if we were not, I would still feel this way for you. I could almost say I love you, Vincent Valentine, but I wont such things that might sway you to or fro. Just know that," you rest your head on his chest, your soft hair brushing agaisnt his chin as you snuggle closer, "I will welcome either decision you make."  
Vincent thinks about your words for a moment, his mind working over all the things he could say, all the reasons why or why not to do this, but in the end, he just wraps his arm around your waist and lifts your face up with his other hand. "This is forever, Rois. I wont do this lightly, but with every intention of keeping you, by any means, at my side."  
"Or atop you," you giggle lightly as his thumb brushes over your full bottom lip. You draw the finger into your mouth, your tongue tasting the soft leather for a moment before you pull away.  
He says something under his breath in almost a growl just seconds before he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, and pulls you up so he can crush your mouth to his just as he his body surges into yours, breaking past the thin barrier inside you, but you barely register the sharp pain before you're filled with such passionate pleasure it makes your head spin. As his hips set the pace, thrusting against yours as if seeking your soul, you meet his every move, like two dancers caught in a passion play. There isn't much room to move, your back already pressing against the coffins lid with each powerful thrust of Vincent's body, and as the pressure builds and the passion sings, you feel yourself reaching your breaking point, sensations shooting through you until you feel like imploding.  
Vincent feels the way your body reacts to him, the way you fall to meet his every thrust with one of your own, and as he feels you break, he knows it wont take much more before he's there, soaring high with you. With one last thrust of his powerful hips, his body explodes, filling you with every inch of him as he empties himself deep inside of you.  
You rest your head on his chest, content, happy for the first time in so long, you're almost afraid it's a dream. When you feel Vincent softly rubbing his gauntlet over your bruising backside, you smile. You're going to be sore, especially your hips and back where you'd been pounded into the coffins lid, but you don't care. What's a little pain compared to the undeniable pleasure you just felt? You can take a few bruises. Every ache will remind you of this moment. Your first time. You already feel Vincent growing inside of you, ready to go again, and he does. All it takes is a touch and you're wanting him inside you, buried so deeply you can't tell where he leaves off and you begin. His body seldom leaves yours for long, if ever, and he's always ready to take you again and again, only stopping when you both have tired each other out. As time goes on your feelings for him grow, and his for you, as well. After countless times making passionate, steamy love, you will just lie on him and talk, speaking of nothing really, just what enters your mind, and he listens and talks when he wishes, but Vincent usually remains silent just so he can listen to the soft, dulcet sound of your sweet voice. He especially loves how you say his name when his body is burying itself deeper and deeper into you. He knows now that he'll never be able to let you go. Many years have passed since you first saw Vincent Valentine, and many have passed since you've fallen madly in love with him. One day, just like any other day, a sound outside the casket stops you and Vincent's lovemaking. You listen closely, your ear perking just like Vincent's is.  
"Do you hear?" you whisper softly, your lips brushing his ear.  
"Yes," he says as an almost sigh, his arm easily drawing his cloak around your naked body covering his.  
As you listen, you hear footsteps coming closer to the coffin, and soon after, there's a knock, then many voices are heard a moment before the padlock holding you and Vincent prisoners clicks as its unlocked. You inhale sharply, your cheek resting on Vincent's chest as you gaze back over your shoulder, waiting for the casket to open, anxious about who will be standing there, and whether or not they're someone good, or someone bad.  
"Tifa, get back, I can open it myself." one voice is saying as the coffins hinges creak a loud protest, old and worn from being beat on by your body during each lovemaking.  
"What if something dead and icky jumps out at you, Cloud?" a woman asks, sounding concerned and hesitant at the same time.  
"I can handle it. Stand back while I-" He abruptly stops talking when he lifts the lid enough to see you and Vincent watching him from inside. "Oh," he says with surprise.  
"Thanks for unlocking the coffin," Vincent says after a moment of silence. "But," he reaches up, "give us a minute to finish up before we talk." Vincent closes the coffin again, which shocks Cloud, but it's when the casket starts rocking that the blond jumps back.  
"Was that a mans voice? What did he say, Cloud?" demands the woman beside him, Tifa, as she gaps at the shaking coffin.  
"Um," Cloud gulps back his surprise. "He said to give them a minute, so we, um, wait, I guess." Cloud rubs a hand through his hair, staring at the moving coffin with raised brows. When they had entered he had thought he'd seen the coffin shaking, and now he knows it had been. He's just learned a valuable lesson today. When the coffin is rocking, don't come knocking.


End file.
